


A Meeting

by KJGooding



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15639435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJGooding/pseuds/KJGooding
Summary: A commission for Cyrelia_J - a slight twist on Garak and Bashir's first meeting, where all of Garak's observation is not enough to prepare him for the toddler on Bashir's lap.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cyrelia_J](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrelia_J/gifts).



Garak had been involved in station takeovers before. It was best to learn the details prior to personnel changes, to keep oneself as safe as possible from acts of violence. He had done exactly this each time the Bajoran factions tried to revolt against their overseers, calling up key names and seemingly insignificant facts while the mining strikes wore on. And he did the same when there was talk of involvement from Starfleet, the most military branch of the Alpha Quadrant's Federation of Planets. Sifting through their data was absurdly easy, and Garak was able to read through all of the expected crew arrivals with enough time to spare to watch Dukat clear out his personal quarters. That was the only thing the Federation's pitiful security standards made fun for him, in the end. 

He studied the files intently - the same as he had with each competing caste of Bajorans - and sorted names for his own priorities. Getting to know the new medical officer was as logical a plan as any; the station had not boasted a presiding physician in several years, and despite Garak's best attempts, it was impossible for him to remain completely safe and uninjured from day to day. It was no use allying with any of the security officers to prevent this - the majority of them were holdovers from the Bajoran militia. It was going to be the doctor or nothing, while the displaced and angry members of both parties took out what remained of their frustrations on him. The sooner he thought himself safe, the better. 

A neutral meeting area was key to ensuring he did not overwhelm the young man. Garak monitored his schedule and waited to approach him at the replimat on a crowded afternoon. Everything pointed to a successful connection: the young doctor seemed, by all accounts, to spend more time with other alien races than among his own. He had traveled all the way to the outpost voluntarily, and was excited about it, and the studies downloaded to his padd were all about new species the Federation had not yet indoctrinated. Garak was determined to appear at the most intriguing and trustworthy of these, and so he approached the doctor's lunch table with his arms outstretched, swaying them cautiously, glancing over his shoulders and trying to give a warm, human-looking smile. 

He touched the doctor's shoulder and purposefully spoke his name. Garak was not exactly sure yet, how to pronounce it, but when his attempt was combined with the gentle touch, Bashir turned and looked up at him with wide, warm eyes. 

Bashir's mouth caught partway open as he began to introduce himself - Garak interrupted him - and then gestured forward. The table was set with tea and disappointingly human accompaniments of milk and sugar, in strange little dispensers. Garak helped himself to the empty seat on the other side of Bashir's table, inhaling sharply and preparing to speak at length. 

Nodding politely - but also disjointedly looking away - Bashir invited Garak to continue, while he scooped up the tube of milk and rolled it between his hands. He drew his hand past his own teacup and carefully tipped it downward over his lap, leaving Garak puzzled, and sitting up tall enough to observe the activity as inconspicuously as possible. 

As it turned out, there was a much smaller individual swaddled on Bashir's lap, wobbling their head side to side and reluctantly accepting portions of the milk, sip by tiny sip. Bashir made quiet, encouraging sounds, while Garak looked on and demurred. 

"Poor thing," said Garak, "a patient of yours?"

Bashir looked up and blinked - an action Garak found much too distracting. The child was mottled with patches of blue, and when Garak looked carefully, he could see small nubs of antennae fighting through thick tufts of brown curls on their head. 

"Oh, no, not at all. This is Tass. My daughter."

"Ah," said Garak, veiling his surprise; the Federation files conveniently neglected to mention the doctor had any relevant family at all. And of course there was no way for him to prepare for how peculiar and jealous the simple sight made him. 

He had to continue carefully. 

"I was not aware Starfleet officers were assigned to war-torn posts with their families," Garak observed, trying to make the words sound more kind than they were. 

"Oh, she... she wasn't assigned here, like that," Bashir said. "She's generally with her other parents, and the timing isn't great - I admit - but they were needed on Earth for a conference and I said I'd be delighted to look after her."

Garak narrowed his eyes, making a hopeless attempt at gleaning some additional meaning; human nonverbal cues were new and foreign to him. 

"And are you?" Garak asked, getting more comfortable in his seat. 

Bashir returned the milk to the table, and reached for the teacup for himself. He offered it to Garak and then promptly mumbled something to himself and covered his mouth, looking embarrassed. Compulsively, he stirred at it until the silence dissipated. 

"Yes..." Bashir eventually replied. "I always cherish our visits. I'd, er, just graduated when she was born, and I... we didn't really get the chance to..."

He trailed off, like a hound pacing in circles before settling down to sleep in the sand. 

"The timing was not great then, either," Garak supplied. 

"Well... no."

"Hmm. She's in good hands, I'm sure."


	2. Chapter 2

 There was no sense in inviting Bashir over if he was going to be bringing his daughter, Garak thought.  The window of opportunity was quite brief, with the two Klingon women in question, and Garak was not about to place the man and his child in danger over a simple exchange of information.  He could handle that himself, making sure the information found its way to the correct sources to postpone the attack.  And when that was handled, he could establish a more appropriate time for meeting up with his interesting new friend. 

Garak made his invitation in person, braving the Bajoran crews to visit the Infirmary.  Accommodations had been made for the child's temporary visit; Garak could see an enclosed area set up for her, outfitted with bedding and plush toys.  Bashir was drifting between two bedridden patients, apologizing profusely when Tass cried out for his attention, instead.  

Balancing the volume of the atmosphere, Garak strode in and gestured to Bashir and then himself in turn, speaking just above a whisper. 

"I thought you might like a chance to visit my shop this afternoon," he said.  "I've recently received a new catalog of infant-wear, and I would be happy to make something for your daughter."

Eager to remain charming, Garak turned to the side and waved at Tass, who was situated on the floor of her crib.  She watched his fingers as he opened and closed them, and Bashir looked on with admiration. 

"If she's had a nap by then, we might, um... that's very kind of you, Mister Garak.  I'm not sure, to be honest.  She doesn't do well with a lot of noise, and I've already... pushed her a bit too far, with all of this."

He shrugged at the collection of whirring machinery in the Infirmary, and went to collect Tass from her crib.  Right away, she relaxed into his hold, settling her chin on his shoulder and sighing.  Garak was entranced; there was nothing more desirable and noble on his home-world than a successful family.  

"Oh, I had planned to close early this afternoon," Garak explained.  "I was _so_ enjoying our conversation the other day.  I thought we might get a chance to continue, if neither of us was needed at work...?"

His voice lilted and led Bashir along to the ending, leaving him with no choice but to agree.  Bashir nodded along eagerly and - after peering briefly into Tass's eyes for confirmation - agreed to stop by in a few hours. 

"Very good, Doctor," Garak said. 

"Julian, please," Bashir offered.  "You're my friend, not my patient."

"Ah," Garak said, tipping his head forward in polite acknowledgement. 

Before he left, he added another component to his plan, another objective to his errand.  He paused in the threshold of Bashir's private office, intentionally turning around before anyone could reasonably expect him to read anything from the computer screen within.   

"May I hold her?" Garak wagered. 

While Bashir thought it over, he bounced Tass up and down in his arm, getting her attention.  

"Of course," Bashir decided, meeting Garak in the middle of the room.  "I need to get a hypo series ready, actually, if, er--  if you... You can sit down if you like; I'll just be a moment.  She's able to support her head..." 

He went on mumbling his daughter's abilities as he crossed the room to retrieve his kit, before returning and remembering to transfer her to Garak's arms instead.  With both hands free, and with Garak thoroughly aware of Tass's comforts, Bashir set to programming his injection series, and left Garak to sit down on the chair in his office.  

Garak was cautious about returning the child's gaze - he did not want to scare her - but she looked up at him and pouted, and giggled when he eventually settled his eyes at her level.  He raised her up in his arms as he had watched Bashir do, and she laughed again, delighted.  Mostly, he planned the gesture so he could make more educated guesses at her size; he had not _actually_ made clothes for a toddler, before, and wanted to ensure he had a pleasing selection when Bashir came to visit, that very evening.  He had his work cut out for him, but relished a challenge. 

She babbled at him and he made intelligible but likely inaccurate translations of her speech for Bashir's benefit, while his back ward turned - 'no, she can't read anything quite yet, Mister Garak,' Bashir had corrected before Garak could become too fanciful.  When Bashir's task was done, he returned to collect her, grinning at Garak and nodding his gratitude.  

"We'll, um, see you tonight, then," Bashir said.   

"I'm looking forward to it."

*** 

Later on, as promised, Garak closed his shop to his visitors and set aside the items he selected for Bashir to try on.  The rompers he had made for Tass were another story, and were by no means his best work, but they would have to suffice.  He had been pressed for time, but still managed to incorporate a few details he hoped Bashir would find helpful.  His favorite of the pieces, for example, was a suit made of thick, brightly patterned wool - one of Garak's favorite imports - arranged in wide stripes of alternating colors, to complement the baby's patchy blue-and-brown skin.  He had done his best to commit the exact variation to memory, during the brief time he held her, and he hoped the gesture would be appreciated, rather than perceived as overbearing. 

As it turned out, Bashir had little concept of 'overbearing' at all.  He blushed and stammered when Garak approached him without warning, but did not otherwise seem overwhelmed.  In fact, much to Garak's relief, he seemed equally willing to be forward.  When Garak brought out the display he had arranged, Bashir gaped appreciatively, and then reached for the fastener of his shirt-collar. 

"Which one should I try on first?" he asked, balancing Tass against one hip.  

Garak stretched both hands forward, grasping at the shoulder of a particularly flattering piece he selected, before turning to offer his arms to Tass.  With a little nod, Bashir passed her over, and patted her forearm to confirm she was comfortable.  She stared eagerly at Garak, while Bashir excused himself to one of the dressing rooms, holding the suit up and admiring it as he stepped inside and pulled the curtain. 

"I, um... I meant to ask, the other day," Bashir said, "if it's true... why you're here, I mean?” 

"I'm sorry?"

Garak went to sit down behind his drafting desk, settling Tass down on the edge of it and gesturing to the measurements etched into it.  She followed his fingernail over the metallic lines and reached out to copy the motion. 

"I heard you were exiled," Bashir said quietly.  "From Cardassia."

"Oh, it sounds like someone is taking advantage of that open mind of yours, Doctor.” 

"I heard it from Odo, the constable."

Before he could retort, Garak heard the curtain being tugged aside.  Together, he and Tass turned to observe the source of the sound, and Bashir stepped out to display the suit Garak selected for him.  

"What do you think of it?" Garak asked. "I thought that particular shade was a bold change from your uniform."

"It is that," Bashir remarked, tugging at the tight-fitting side of the white jacket.  "I understand if you don't want to talk about it.  That's fine."

"About my living on the station?  How considerate, but it's nothing I am ashamed of.  There is merely nothing to talk _about_."

Tass opened her mouth only to yawn, but Bashir dutifully collected her right away.  He held her tight against his chest, letting her rest her head on his shoulder while he stroked her hair and gently shushed her. 

Garak observed this, enthralled, and slid aside the pile of pattern books from his desk, gesturing for Bashir to sit against the ledge.  

"For whatever it may be worth to you," Garak began, "you seem to be a very devoted father." 

Bashir was quiet, and Garak swore he could see the progress of the next accusation fading from his face.  Flattery could get an agent anywhere - Garak knew that - and a nicely cut suit and a compliment left little to be desired.  But this was genuine, and Garak only hoped it came off the same as he meant it. 

"I... thank you, that's worth a lot.  It's just that I only get to see her - well - not very often.  And Erit and their partners take fine care of her, I never worry about that, but I want to... I don't know, make sure she remembers me, and has a nice time, and is safe and healthy and all of that..."

Garak found the man's rambling to be charming.  Reassuringly, he nodded, and waited patiently for Bashir to finish.  There was much to be culled and pursued from this little chat, but Garak did not concern himself with any of it, for the time being.  The fact was, he had found an engaging and kind young father, a noteworthy officer of the Federation, _and_ the station's doctor - all the same man, and all a friend of his, if he proceeded correctly. 

"I hope you don't mind," Garak said slowly, retrieving his set of patchwork pajamas from a drawer in his desk, "but I made these for her, as well."

Clutching Tass tight with one arm, Bashir extended the other to take the set from Garak.  He stroked the fabric, voicing his appreciation for the thickness and for the exciting patterns. 

"That's... extraordinary.  You, Mister Garak, are a splendid tailor...  For whatever it's worth," he added, with a smirk. 

Garak bowed his head to humble himself, and then walked with Bashir toward the door.  He disengaged the lock just long enough for them all to pass through before sealing it again, explaining he had wanted to close for the night, anyway.  

"The last thing I wanted to do was rush you," he said, while Bashir beamed at him. 

"Would you... like to have dinner, sometime?  W-with me?"

"I would, very much.” 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The baby is Erit's - Julian's friend from med school. And not gonna lie, I am thinking about them Way Too Much now so there might be more of this, someday. 
> 
> If you'd like a commission feel free to ask! I love writing requests!


End file.
